Mrs H Weasley
by RainThestral93
Summary: When a bored Hermione doodles "Mrs H Weasley" on a scrap of parchment, she doesn't intend for anyone to see it but her. When Fred and George get wind of her secret crush, they use their brilliant powers of deduction to work out the only two possible candidates for Hermione's affection are themselves. But will Hermione confess all, or leave the twins hanging?


**Summary: **When a bored Hermione doodles "Mrs H Weasley" on a scrap of parchment, she doesn't intend for anyone to see it but her. When Fred and George get wind of her secret crush, they use their brilliant powers of deduction to work out the only two possible candidates for Hermione's affection are themselves. But will Hermione confess all, or leave the twins hanging?**  
****  
****I Could Tell You, But Then I'd Have to Kill You**

Hermione was bored. Bored to the point where she was contemplating poking her own eyeballs out with her quill. Harry and Ron were going off about Quidditch – _again_– and there was nobody else in the common room apart from Fred and George; two people who Hermione never usually found herself in the same social circles as. This was why the Gryffindor bookworm found herself absent-mindedly doodling on a piece of scrap parchment.

First, she started with meaningless row upon row of squiggles, which before long had turned into a shabby attempt at drawing a phoenix. Hermione scrunched her nose in distaste at her failed rendition of the magnificent bird, and sighed. Being bad at art was one thing Hermione resented about herself; which is why she resigned herself to doodling, "Mrs H Weasley" all around the edges of her parchment. So engrossed in her jottings, she didn't notice two mischievous pairs of eyes glancing at what she was doing from behind her arm chair. Fred and George shot one another knowing smiles, before retreating up the stairs to their bedroom. Hermione followed not too long after, succumbing to the tiredness that washed over her.

The next morning at breakfast, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Hermione seated herself at her normal spot on the Gryffindor table, poured herself a goblet of pumpkin juice, and was absent mindedly munching on some toast whilst she read, as Fred and George slid onto the bench opposite her.

"Morning Mrs H Weasley," Fred grinned cheekily, a wicked glint in his eye. Hermione lowered her book to look at the redhead, shooting him a questioning gaze.

"What did you just call me?" She asked, bemused, and still half-asleep. Her mind had completely forgotten her doodles from the night before.

"Mrs H Weasley," George repeated after his brother, grinning manically, a large smile spread from one side of his face to the other.

"Sorry?" Hermione asked, seeming perplexed. What on earth were the twins on about?

"Don't deny it Hermione," Fred laughed, "I know you feel it, the chemistry between us." His brother laughed, and Hermione's eyebrows knitted together.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about," she remarked with a snooty air to her voice. "Now if you're going to go on mumbling nonsense, then please leave, I'm trying to read here."

"Oo-er," chuckled Fred, "No need to get your panties in a twist."

"Please don't for one minute think that you've had any effect whatsoever on my panties," she remarked coolly, causing Lee Jordan, who was listening to the conversation, to choke on his cereal. The Gryffindor bookworm was not a morning person – and this was a well-known fact amongst her peers. Why Fred and George were winding her up this early in the morning, Lee couldn't for the life of him explain.

"Well if it's not me who gets your panties in a knot," Fred continued, seeming unfazed by her put-down, "Who is it?"

"Sorry?" Now Hermione was definitely feeling confused.

George felt like they owned the bushy-haired teen something more by means of explanation, which is why he said, "We saw you writing "Mrs H Weasley" on your parchment last night," he explained, and Hermione's cheeks turned from cream to crimson within the space of five seconds, as she realised what all this was about.

"That was _meant_to be private," she snarled, wondering how on earth the twins had seen it. Hadn't she thrown the parchment straight into fire before she had followed them up to bed?

"Well sorry," George rushed, not sounding that sorry at all. "So which one of us is it, then?"

Hermione retreated inwards, refusing to give out the details of her personal life to the two Pranksters sitting in front of her. If she admitted anything to them, especially with Lee listening in, it would most likely be all over the school within seconds. She shuddered at the idea of her deepest darkest secrets being known to the entire student body – and probably half the faculty, too.

Fred began reeling off the options, "Well it's not Mum, Dad or Auntie Muriel, I think we can say that pretty safely," he chuckled, and George cut in.

"Or is it?" The freckled redhead's tone was laced with faux anxiety of the idea, and Hermione shot him a pointed expression.

"You're straight, right, Hermione?" Fred clarified, and the young witch nodded, her cheeks now magenta.

"So that means it's not Ginny," George deduced, causing both Hermione and Fred to roll their eyes.

"Well done Sherlock," Hermione muttered under her breath, and Fred smirked at her disregard for his twin's intelligence.

"You've only met Charlie once," George continued, and Fred took on from where he left off.

"And Bill's married – you don't seem to us the sort who'd go after a married man."

"It can't be Percy because, well, let's face it, he's the biggest prat known to humankind," George chipped in, causing Hermione to snort at the perfect summary of the older Weasley boy. With his horn-rimmed spectacles, pompous air, superfluous vocabulary and blatant disregard for his family, Hermione had to admit that he really was a ginormous prat.

"It can't be Ron –" Fred started.

George finished his twin's sentence, "Because you have standards."

Hermione smirked at their powers of deduction. Perhaps they really were smarter than you gave them credit.

"So," Fred remarked amicably, "That leaves Georgie and me. Care to enlighten us to which one of us holds your heart?" His tone was hopeful, and Hermione could tell from the look in his eye that he was pleading with her to say him – whatever bet he'd made with George, she assumed, hung on who she said.

"Yeah," George pushed her, "Who's it to be, lowly Fred or King George the Great?"

"Great?" Fred laughed, his tone admonishing, "Out of all the adjectives in the world, you picked 'great'?"

His brother shrugged. "English has never been my strong point."

"All the more reason for you to pick me, my fair Maiden," Fred grinned, pretending to be from the medieval period. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"So who is it?" They both asked simultaneously, their voices piqued with curiosity.

"I could tell you," Hermione smirked, "But then I'd have to kill you."

And with that, the Gryffindor got up and left the Great Hall, leaving two very confused twins in her wake.


End file.
